My Girl Too
by oksofia
Summary: Clark doesn't like Lana's new boyfriend. Bruce Wayne doesn't care because the feeling's mutual. Not slash!


**AN**: On _Justice League_, it's pretty much established that Superman and Batman are besties (when Clark gives Bruce a hug, Bruce doesn't gas him; when Clark "dies" Bruce doesn't come to the funeral and instead spends days trying to prove that he's still alive… see? BESTIES). They definitely didn't start out that way, though! And that is why "The World's Finest" is the best _STAS/TNBA_ episode EVER!

I just thought that if Clark flipped out when Lana dated Lex, and flipped out when Lois dated Bruce, how would he react if Lana dated Bruce? MUAHAHAHA. This is a story about Clark and Bruce's earlier days. Not beta read. I've tried to keep everyone in character. And as always, a disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to DC Comics!

* * *

**MY GIRL TOO**

For the tenth time that night, Clark made sure that the contents of the picnic basket hanging from his arm hadn't spilled. Ma had given him the basket full of homemade jams and preserves when he went over to visit that evening on the express condition that he would share half of the contents with Lana Lang, that poor skinny thing. Clark promised, but not before he made a detour to his apartment and set aside all of the jars of plum preserves for himself (Lana preferred boysenberries anyway).

As a result, the basket wasn't as tightly packed as it had been when he had received it. Well, he was doing an okay job at balancing everything so far, and, at any rate, he was almost at Lana's apartment. Actually, the whole situation reminded him of how once he and Lana had tried to walk their bikes home from school while balancing a fishbowl between the two of them. Who wins goldfish in _fishbowls_, they had laughed as they progressively spilled the contents of the bowl in small increments (it _was_ funny; you just had to be there). He'd recount the story to Lana tonight and she'd get a kick out of it. Thus, it was in high spirits that Clark knocked at her door.

The door opened almost immediately but instead of a tiny redheaded woman with fashion-forward bangs he saw a tall, broad man with slicked-back hair gripping a rose between his teeth.

Clark blinked twice. "Bruce Wayne?"

...What was Bruce Wayne doing in Lana's apartment? Was she in trouble? And then Clark realized that Wayne wasn't in his Batman costume. And then Clark realized that Bruce Wayne was wearing one of _Lana's_ monogrammed fur-lined robes that barely covered his front and that he held a red rose between his teeth. And _then_ Clark realized that the apartment was strategically lit with candles and filled with the sounds of Marvin Gaye. And _then_ Clark *_realized*_ what was going on here.

Well, Clark nearly dropped his picnic basket full of jams and preserves as he felt his blood pressure start to rise. How DARE Bruce Wayne seduce Lana Lang? He wasn't good enough for her! Slippery playboy by day, vigilante with questionable methods by night. Clark hadn't forgotten - nay, could never forget - how Bruce Wayne had swooped in on Lois like a sleazy vulture. Now he had his sights set on Lana? This guy was unbelievable!

Bruce took the rose out from between his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"...Unbe— Unbeliev— That's what _I_ should be saying!" sputtered Clark.

"Are you here selling subscriptions to the Daily Planet, Kent? At this hour? I don't want one."

Clark nearly dropped his basket again in irritation. "First of all, you _own_ the Daily Planet, so that's a poor business decision! And second of all, you don't live here! _Lana _does! Where's Lana?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "_You_ know Lana Lang? How? Did she do some pro bono design work for the 4-H Club?"

"I'll have you know that Lana is one of my oldest friends! And she _did _design our high school 4-H Club t-shirt, of which she was also a member!"

"Well, Lana's not home."

Clark narrowed his eyes. "Then I'll wait," he declared, and pushed past Bruce into the apartment.

"By all means, make yourself at home," muttered Bruce under his breath; he set the rose on the entryway console and clicked off the sensual music. His eye then caught the collection of pictures she had arranged on a nearby table. Sure enough, there was one of her Kent as teenagers - one of those pictures that couples pose for at high school proms. _Great_.

Kent, meanwhile, had marched into Lana's kitchen and was unloading the contents of his picnic basket onto the counter. When he was done he took a deep breath and stared at himself in the reflection of the toaster. "Stay strong, Kent - I mean, Clark," he convinced his image, "You saved Lana from that disastrous relationship with Lex. You can save her from another one, too." Invigorated, he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch opposite Bruce.

Bruce gave him a disdainful glance. "Oh, you're staying."

"Yes," said Clark, "I have a few things I'd like to say to Lana when she gets back."

"You know, I'd be more than happy to give her a message if it means getting rid of you."

"No thanks. I'll wait."

Bruce shrugged languidly and crossed his legs; in the process Clark caught sight of something he definitely didn't want to see. Lana's robe was probably ruined for good. He leaned forward angrily. "Do you even know what her favorite flavor of jam is?" he demanded of the insufferably unrufflable Bruce Wayne.

"No," admitted Bruce, "but I know all about other things she likes."

"_Ugh!_" cried Clark, understanding *exactly* what Bruce meant.

Bruce found this reaction amusing but he was starting to get annoyed. "You know, you can't have them both, Kent. It has to be one or the other. I'll gladly start pursuing Lois again if you're more interested in Lana."

"What? I'm not—listen, Wayne. I admit that after working with you I've changed my mind about Batman, but Bruce Wayne is still a shallow womanizer. I won't let you just _use _Lana like this."

"You know, I'm starting to think that you were sent to Earth just to keep me from getting laid," Bruce grumbled; as he uncrossed his legs, Clark's hand flew to his eyes.

"Does Lana know that you're abusing her poor robe?" he cried.

Bruce deigned this question unworthy of a reply, yet Clark barreled on. "How do you know Lana, anyway?"

"I met her at Gotham Fashion Week. She took quite a liking to me and I felt the same way, so I asked her out. A _real _man actively pursues a woman, Kent. Have you asked out Lois yet?"

"...No."

"Didn't think so," Bruce smirked. "I'll bet Lana was the one who asked you to your prom, too," he added, motioning to the picture on the table.

"...She was," Clark had to admit.

"Typical. I would have thought that after my last visit to Metropolis you would have picked up a few pointers on how to woo a woman."

Clark glared at him but suddenly looked unsure. He considered something for a moment, then asked, "So all this"—he made a sweeping gesture around the room—"works? The candles and the music and the rose?"

Bruce raised his brow. "It's tried and tested."

"Really," Clark reflected to himself, leaning back, "I would have thought that this was all way too obvious."

"There are times when you want to leave a woman guessing, but that's sparingly. You can't leave her guessing so much that she loses interest."

"Ah." Before Clark could collect more pearls of wisdom, however, the doorknob turned and in walked Lana Lang.

"Bruce!" she exclaimed, then her eyes caught her other guest, "...and Clark? What's going on here?"

Bruce reclined on the sofa and grinned at her. "Just waiting for you to come back home."

Lana's eyes darted to Clark as she set down her purse. "B-both of you?" she asked, a slow grin spreading through her features.

"If you want him to join us, I'm okay with that," Bruce shrugged nonchalantly.

"What? No!" cried Clark. "NO. Listen, Lana," he turned to his friend and grabbed her by the shoulders, "I know he's rich and I know he's handsome, but beware of Bruce Wayne, okay? Read up on his reputation before you fall in love with him. _Read on the internet about his reputation!"_

Bruce stood up and crossed his arms. "Kent, I believe Lana is capable of making her own decisions about whether or not she's going to fall in love with me."

"He's right, Clark," said Lana, removing Clark's hands from her shoulders, "I can make up my mind about Bruce on my own. And really, you don't need to worry. This is just physical anyway."

"Just... physical?" repeated Bruce, crestfallen.

"Well, yeah. I thought you felt that way too? We've been dating for two weeks and we've barely had a conversation!"

"I... uh, yes, of course. Of course." But it was unconvincing.

Lana put her hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Bruce, I really am, but men like you, who're suave and sexy as hell, are great for having a little fun with. But in the end, it's guys like Clark - reliable, sweet, caring, innocent - whom women end up marrying."

Bruce knew that about his reputation as it was his own doing to cover up his secret nocturnal activities as Batman. But to be contrasted against _Clark Kent? _That smarted. He looked over to the object of his derision and saw that said object was struggling to maintain the blank look he was giving Bruce.

Lana then turned to Clark. "You! Still in love with Lois?" she asked him, playfully punching his arm.

"Afraid so," Clark nodded, pushing up his glasses.

Bruce looked from one to the other and then cleared his throat. "Well, then... I'll change and leave."

"Sorry, Bruce," said Lana, and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek, "I really am."

Bruce nodded bravely and headed to her bedroom. Behind him he heard Kent say, "Ma sent some preserves for you. I kept all the plum but left you the boysenberry."

"I love boysenberry!"

"I know!"

Bruce was afraid that if he rolled his eyes any harder they'd end up lodged into the back of his head.

* * *

When they were outside Lana's apartment, Clark handed Bruce a spoon and a mason jar filled with something red. "Here," he offered, "This'll make you feel better."

Bruce gave Clark a dirty look and maintained it as he unscrewed the lid off the jar and took a spoonful of whatever down-home mush it was filled with. It was tangy... raspberry... with a hint of mint, married together in a glorious bed of smooth, luscious pectin.

"Hmghph," he grumbled, going in for another spoonful.

Clark grinned with full knowledge. "I thought so. Keep the whole jar," he offered magnanimously.

They took the elevator together. Bruce paused from his methodical ingestion of the jar of jam long enough to say to Clark, "So are there any other talented, beautiful women in love with you of whom I should be aware?"

Clark cocked his head sideways.

"Any other extraordinary women who've fallen under the spell of this unassuming, corn fed country-boy-at-heart identity you've got going?"

"This isn't an identity—" Clark began.

Bruce cut him off and continued, undeterred, "Any other Pulitzer-winning journalists? World-famous fashion designers? Any prime ministers? Amazons? MERMAIDS? Anyone else whom I shouldn't pursue because they've already met the marriage-worthy Clark Kent?"

Well, "no" to the other Pulitzer winners, fashion designers, prime ministers, or Amazons, but... Clark wisely decided not to mention Lori Lemaris for the time being. He doubted Bruce would ever date a prime minister, Amazon, or mermaid anyway. He was just venting, the poor guy.

"Nope!" Clark pronounced cheerfully.

"'Nope,'" Bruce repeated dryly, and then shook his head. "Take care, Kent. Maybe I should thank you for intervening this time _before _I started to fall in love with her."

"You take care too, Mr. Wayne," Clark replied as Bruce got into his town car and was driven away.

_What a night! _Clark thought to himself as he shifted his basket of jams and preserves from one hand to the other, then furrowed his brow. Both of the women in his life had fallen for Bruce at one point or another, he reflected. Maybe he should have gotten more pointers from him on how to pursue a woman. _Do I have Marvin Gaye CDs or scented candles at home?_ he wondered. _Nope, just the Beatles and a bunch of firecrackers_.

He supposed that he'd just have to woo Lois in his own style. Maybe he'd start by giving her a jar of homemade jam.


End file.
